Close Encounters of the Fourth Kind
by OnkelJo
Summary: (Mini-)Castle Ficathon '14 entry. Cover Art by @dtrekker :) I find myself in the presence of a being I believed to be entirely fictional. Sent on a mysterious quest not even I myself know what it's about, I land in an alternate reality where I am to interfere with our favorite writer and cop's lives. "Serious" crack-fic :D Allegedly the VERY FIRST Castle Self Insertion on FFnet!
1. Plunging In

**First off: My other Castle fanfiction is not forgotten! I am writing, but I keep rewriting over and over again; I took a break to gain a little perspective on how to continue, focussing on my other stories. There will be updates, soonish.**

**Secondly: This is an idea born from idiocy, I admit. Self inserts are a guilty pleasure of mine and I have no idea if this will even work, but at this point, I don't even care anymore. I want to share this special kind of idiocy with you, and I'm quite confident (and glad) that this story is unique. As in, you're lucky there aren't more stories like it.**

**For those of you who are not acquainted with the concept of self inserts, here's a little rundown: A self insert (short: SI) is a story where a person, usually the author him-/herself (otherwise it's an OCI), is inserted into a fictional universe of the author's choice, often with vast knowledge of the chosen universe. Pretty self explanatory. And more often than not, bad/corny/tacky to the point of physically hurting. I do not intend to cause you pain, but the nature of this story demands that I at least warn you. For this story, I'll go with the no-holds-barred approach. Although, there's no other way for an SI.**

**Long author's note over. If you made it this far, congratulations. You may read the story now.**

* * *

**Chapter 1: Plunging In**

_Omnes relinquite spes, o vos intrantes._

I couldn't help but to think of Dante's 'The Divine Comedy' when I thrashed around in my restraints.

"Struggling will… do you no… good, Mr. Gerthson."

I turned my head towards the speaker and had to swallow a lump in my throat, which was rather difficult lying horizontally. The eerie blue and green speckled eyes, the accurate haircut, the suit… not to mention the voice…

"G-Man?" I croaked out.

"Rather… astute. Good, good... it will make things… easier to… explain. The pain you are… experiencing is a side effect from… interdimensional hopping and will… fade shortly after we arrive. You were chosen… to put a halt to an… unnerving development in… one of your parallel dimensions."

"Do I have an alien invasion to stop?"

Speaking wasn't easy, but I didn't saw a reason not to spend what little power I had left on sarcasm and irony.

Oddly enough, the elder man only chuckled throatily. "Not everyone is… made for this kind… of mission. Let's leave those… to Mr. Freeman, shall… we?"

"Does that mean we get Half-Life 3?"

My voice was almost gone.

"I honestly… hope not. Two incursions were… bad enough already. My… employers… have something… different in mind… for you."

I coughed, causing my lungs to start burning. "What is it?"

There were a few moments of silence before the agent spoke again. "I am… surprised that you don't… even bother to ask about returning… which would be fine; once you're done, you can go… back to your… old life."

Weren't I restrained, I would've shrugged. "I'd say I'm at your mercy, Mr. G-Man. If Gordon Freeman can't escape your clutches, what chance would I possibly have?"

The G-Man's face twitches into a cold smile. "True, true. But remember… this fatalistic attitude, while handy… sometimes, might… cost you dearly in… the future."

Blackness was already crawling at the edges of my vision. I didn't have much time.

"So where are you sending me?" I asked.

"How well… do you know… New York, Mr. Gerthson?"

* * *

"He's flatlining! Gonna defib!" "Two hundred joules ready!" "Clear!"

The jolt of electricity ripples through my body and I spasm uncontrollably.

"Welcome to… New York, have… a nice stay," G-Man's voice echoes hollowly through my mind before fading, along with the rest of my surroundings.

* * *

"He's waking up!" I hear a voice whispering close-by.

When I open my eyes and turn my head, I see a man in a white doctor's overall standing at the foot of my bed. He's in his mid-thirties and could easily work as a model, with his ridiculously white toothy grin and the shiny dark hair.

"Hey there. I'm glad you're awake now. Was a close call a few times but we got you through."

Bleary memories start to swirl through my mind and a name pops up.

I squint hard and try to read the guy's name tag, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't introduce myself. I'm Doctor Davidson, I was the doctor on call when you were brought in. You had a heart attack. This is quite unusual for your age, by the way. Do you have any family members with cardiac problems?"

New York? Doctor Davidson? You've _got _to be kidding me…

"I know people who died of a heart attack who were twenty years old, too, but that has been because of alcohol, a dare and an illegally high-powered electric fence, but no, noone in my family that I know of."

He gives me an odd look. "Oh...kay… that was oddly specific. But you've got a few years until twenty, kid."

_Wait, what?_

"Wait, what?"

He chuckles a bit. "You don't even have a driver's license. You're fifteen, pal."

Now that I think of it, my legs did seem to feel a little shorter. I look down and realize with a groan that I landed before my last growth spurt, right into puberty.

Bummer, I'm five seven again.

* * *

**Well, this was it, for now. Mr. Gerthson has arrived in NYC, and I'm laughing my back off when I just think of all the shiny possibilities for this story and its probably glorious ridiculousness. I don't know when I'll update, forcing a story like this would not be advantageous for my mental health and sanity. This is not a crack fic, mind you. But not terribly serious either. People who relish serious facts won't be enjoying this story very much, I'm afraid; I will bend canon to my will if it doesn't sit well with me.**

**PS: The G-Man really talks like this. If you don't believe me, look it up on YouTube, or play the Half Life series.**


	2. Getting Started

**I hope you guys stick around a while. This chapter will not be the one where we get to the actual characters of the show (well, minus the doctor). Or do you really want to read about a fifteen-year-old dork/geek/nerd walking through everything and dominating everyone in his way without any kind of training or anything of the sorts? I didn't think so.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 2: Getting started  
**

I'm in New York.

More specifically, the New York of the Castle universe.

This will definitely take some time to get used to. First point on the agenda: Get out of the hospital.

According to _freaking_ doctor Davidson, I'm supposed to be discharged today. The sooner I get out of here, the better. One of the nurses is already giving me looks, after I asked to get some kind of internet access to check something (read: to google Richard Castle), but she just asked if I had any idea how much that would cost her.

Imagine my surprise when I found out that this is the year oh-nine. I should've seen it sooner, with me being back in my fifteen year old body. If my passport I for whatever reason had on me is to be believed, I still have the same birthday and the same birth year, which sadly means that I'll have to go to school. Again. Given that I was already at university in my reality, this shouldn't be much more than passing the time, really, but if it is anything like my old school, this could turn out to be most annoying.

While I am thinking about what to do, I don't see the nurse until she's standing directly in front of my bed. I'm glad that she's not the one I asked for internet. In fact, she's quite the looker… Ugh, bad brain! It wouldn't even be legal anymore here, with me being a minor. It won't be easy to have a twenty-year-old's mind in a fifteen-year-old's body. Although, it could've been worse. I could've been thirty before.

"Hey, John. It's time to get you discharged. Your driver's waiting already."

I stay silent at the fact that I apparently have a driver. I have no idea where I'm going, but it looks like my urge to punch the G-Man in the face diminishes every hour. He seems to have thought of everything, including how to get a minor out of the hospital without raising red flags anywhere. At least I hope so.

"I'm fine, I don't need a wheelchair," I reply distractedly.

The nurse only gives me a small smile. "If you really want to get out, you'll have to get into the wheelchair. Hospital policy: You leave either in a coffin or a wheelchair," she adds with a wink.

In response I let myself plop down in the chair without saying another word.

The nurse smirks before getting behind me. "That's what I thought."

"The way you wield fear, you should join the army," I hear myself saying. _Foot, meet mouth._

I brace myself for her possibly harsh reaction, but she only gives me a playful shove and softly laughs a little before pushing me into the elevator.

I'll just go ahead and blame what just happened on my youthful adorableness.

I almost sigh with relief when the elevator chimes, signaling our arrival at the ground floor. Did I mention that I can't wait to get out of here?

My mouth snaps shut loudly after falling open at the monstrous stretch limousine out front.

_Someone's gone all out, it seems. Thank you, G-Man._

A sixtysomething man with neatly parted grey hair, a black suit and tie, climbs out as I am rolled through the main entrance, and walks around the car to welcome me. Thanking the nurse with a smile, I stand up.

The driver opens the rear door for me and greets me with a short incline of the head.

"It's so good to see you up and running, mister Gerthson. I couldn't help but to come myself once I heard of your recovery. Come now, you surely want to get back to the loft."

I'm momentarily distracted by the poshest british accent I've ever heard, but he completely loses me at 'loft'. As in, I'm to live in a freaking _loft, _or so it seems. I don't quite know what I'm supposed to do here, but the benefits are beginning to stack up. Rolling with the punches has brought me through life so far, so why change a running system? Okay, granted, that sounds a bit hollow, with being in another dimension and all, but I think I made my point.

As I climb into the back of the car, I can only marvel at all the leather and the extras it has.

"I assume everything is to your satisfaction?"

When I look up, I can see the elder man smiling warmly in the rear mirror. I can only nod, as I continue to soak up everything in my vicinity.

Only when I feel the car stop, I can tear myself away from it. Not that I have never seen luxury in my life, but… damn, this is awesome.

I open the door and find myself in an underground garage, presumably below the apartment building where the loft is.

Having no idea where to go, I silently follow the man who I assume to be a butler. I don't know anything about him, not even his name, and now it's too awkward to ask him. _Roll with the punches, _I repeat in my head like a mantra.

The butler has to turn a key to activate the lift for the loft. While we're going up, it plays a soft melody, I think it's "The boy from Ipanema".

When the chime announces our arrival, the doors open up to a treasure trove for geeks, having top of the line electronics (for oh-nine). Plus, the furniture isn't bad either.

"Welcome to your humble refuge."

I snicker a little bit at 'humble'. "Have you seen a… friend of mine… lately? Accurate hairstyle, always wears suits, blue-green eyes, about forty-five years old?"

"I assume you mean the G-Man."

It's more a statement than a question. Figures that the butler is in on my secret origin.

"That's the one."

"No, but I was instructed to answer any questions you may have."

"Are you a butler?"

"Among other duties, yes. First and foremost, I am to help you integrate into this reality."

I exhale loudly. "That's a relief. So, while we're at it… Why me?"

The butler seems to contemplate his answer a little bit. "I do not know. Little is known about your mission. The G-Man is very secretive."

"That's an understatement," I scoff. Although I have to wonder if he's not just as tight-lipped about the mission as the G-Man. Anyhow…

"I feel a little awkward asking this, but… what's your name?"

This obviously cracks the offish butler's shell a bit, because he outright laughs at me. "I was wondering when you were going to ask, young lad. I must admit, you kept a stiff upper lip about it for longer than I would have expected from you."

I have to admit, I'm somewhat disgruntled at his concession. Might as well call him Limey behind his back until he gives me a name. "Well, I'm new in this universe, despite my backstory the G-Man certainly gave me. So when someone was outside the hospital able to pick up a minor without raising red flags, I didn't ask many questions. You could be a part of my backstory or you could be aware of my true story, or both. In neither case, saying anything before now would've helped."

"At least they didn't send an utter moron like last universe," Limey snorted. "You may call me Barrymore."

I cross my arms. "You actually want me to believe that you, as a butler, have the same name as the one from 'The Hound of the Baskervilles'?"

It feels slightly disturbing to see the old man wink. "I said you may call me that. I never said it was actually my name. It'll do."

He takes a remote out of his pocket and pushes a button on it. A portion of the wall slides aside, revealing a hidden training room filled with all kinds of weapons, from nunchucks over bo staffs, and swords and bows to pistols.

"We will soon begin your training. No matter your mission, knowing how to defend yourself will come in useful."

My eyes are slightly glazed as I take in the view in front of me.

"Training in martial arts. Top of the line gadgets, weapons and electronics. No living next of kin, at least in this dimension. As close to a mansion as one can get in New York. Tons of money, apparently…" I count on the fingers of my hand.

"Am I Batman?"

* * *

**This line was lingering in my head since I started writing this chapter :D To be honest, I didn't plan to go that far over the top… I looked for a way to get out of the hospital as a minor, and this was the most fun option by far. With traveling through dimensions via video game characters, credibility isn't far up my agenda anyhow.**


	3. Two's A Crowd

**You know what? Screw this. We will get the party started. One way… or the other.**

* * *

**Chapter 3: Two's A Crowd...  
**

"_Training in martial arts. Top of the line gadgets, weapons and electronics. No living next of kin, at least in this dimension. As close to a mansion as one can get in New York. Tons of money, apparently…" I count on the fingers of my hand._

"_Am I Batman?"_

Barry lets out a soft rumble that's probably supposed to be a laugh. "Hardly, sir."

"You're right, I think I'm not depressed enough," I quip.

"I fear… you won't have time to… remedy that. We need you… immediately, Mr Gerthson."

I snap around to the stiff figure of the G-Man. His face of course is bare of any emotion, as always.

"G-Man, he's not ready yet. We didn't have the chance to train even a single time," Barry argues.

"We are aware of… his state, agent," the alien dispatcher says coolly and acknowledges the butler's interruption with an icy look. "We are prepared for this… eventuality, too."

He reaches into a pocket of his suit and pulls out a pair of sunglasses that are eerily familiar, but I can't place where I've seen this kind of glasses already.

"Another universe has… achieved a flawed version of… this device. Don't worry, I've designed this one myself," he adds with a very creepy half smile. "I've taken the… liberty to add… more data about this universe among… other useful things. You might know these as… the Intersect glasses."

Oooh, _that's _why they looked familiar. Originating from the Chuck universe, this miniature supercomputer uploads itself into the human brain via encoded images. Placed into the subconsciousness, it can only be accessed through a special trigger, like saying the name of a person whose file is in "the Intersect", or showing the image it was encoded with. The data that can be stored varies from personnel files over correspondences up to muscle memory, language memory and so on.

Which is pretty awesome, if you ask me. You can know Kung Fu or French, for example, in a matter of seconds. Thankfully, this data is only available for a relatively short amount of time, such as for the duration of a fight. Otherwise, your brain would overload with all the information you accessed over time. Well, the electric impulses it sends out _do _fry your brain, eventually. At least they do in the version I know, which G-Man has fittingly described as flawed. I rather like my brain, actually, so I really, really hope he knows what he's doing.

"Anything special to look out for?" I ask, giving in to my fate.

"Be aware that the… first upload will be slightly… overwhelming."

_No kidding…_

I take the glasses from him, take a deep breath and put them on. However, instead of starting with the upload immediately, it first scans my eyes, changing from red to green and displaying "Identity confirmed" on both lenses afterwards.

Then the upload starts.

Images flash by, leaving behind a small digital imprint in my brain's neural network. I see everything from a baby with a teething rattle to torture and cruise missiles, from scary clowns to storks on a roof.

It goes on for about an hour or so, then the display reads "Upload successful" before fading to black again. I pull off the now fried glasses and shake my head.

"How long was that? I've spent an hour with that thing, didn't I?" I groan.

"Hardly. You've been… uploading for the past… three minutes and forty-seven seconds. The Intersect has… most likely interfered with your… perception of time."

"Alrighty then," I get out before the world starts spinning around me and everything turns black.

* * *

I wake up with a gasp when I feel icecold water drenching my face and my clothes. Standing above me is Barry, holding an empty bucket in his hand.

"Look who's awake," he greets me with a grin.

"And to think I considered you a potential father figure in this dimension just moments ago," I growl back, to which the butler only laughs.

Not that I'm not a morning person. Very much so, in fact, but everything is worse with a headache worthy of a hangover of the year award.

"I hope this piece of sh… iny technology was worth this mother of all headaches! How long was I out?" I ask.

Barry smirks when he answers. "As long as it took me to find the bucket, fill it with water and come back."

Ugh, this man is infuriating. "My parents taught me to be respectful to my elders, but you are really tempting me to act against my upbringing."

Barry only laughs even harder. He turns around and walks into the mini dojo, obviously expecting me to follow. I shortly consider defying him, but it isn't worth the effort. If he worked with greater nutjobs than I am, which he apparently did as he said himself, it wouldn't even piss him off in the least. I sniff at the fact that I'm very, very bad at being a bad boy.

When I enter the room I only hear a sharp whistling from my right. I sidestep the wooden practice sword and pull the perpetrator at his hands grasping the hilt right into my elbow.

"That. Was. AWESOME!" I exclaim staring at my hands in disbelief.

"Depends on who you ask," Barry mutters as he stands up. He sounds a bit muffled, mainly because his hand covers his nose and mouth. "At least we know now that the Intersect works."

Only then I see the little droplets of blood seeping through his fingers. "Oh, my god. Did I break your nose? I'm so sorry, Barry!" I exclaim, not even sarcastically.

His muffled voice sounds distinctly disgruntled. "I'm fine. Or rather, I had worse, sprog. Here's your mission."

I take the folder he pushes against my chest and open it. A mugshot falls out, along with an address with a time, and a shortened criminal record, which identifies the face as appendant to a known terrorist bomber, a currently wanted one at that.

"I take it I am to stop him?"

"I knew you were a quick learner. Leave him alive and bring him to the backdoor of the building. There, I will wait with the car. We'll see to it that he falls into the hands of the FBI."

I shrug in response. "Sounds good to me. When do we go?"

I could swear I see an evil glint in his eyes when he answers. "How about… now?"

* * *

When he pulls up about fifty yards away from the address, I see a banner hanging at the building front, advertising the event happening this evening, a book release party for… 'Storm Fall'?

"Ooooh… shit…"

* * *

**I do have to say that I rather like writing cliffhangers :)**

**It is very convenient to have an alien agent at your beck and call. It can explain very, very much. :)**


	4. Way too meta for me

**A/N: The (chapter) name says it all ;) Note: For the sake of the story, the book party is on a roof. It's more epic that way… Let me surprise you :D Another note: I had to tweak the minute details of the timeline a bit, which only occurred to me after I've written maybe two hundred words into the concerned part. I hope you can forgive me that. If all else fails… it was the G-Man ;D**

* * *

****

Chapter 4: Way too meta for me

_When he pulls up about fifty yards away from the address, I see a banner hanging at the building front, advertising the event happening this evening, a book release party for… 'Storm Fall'?_

"_Ooooh… shit…"_

"You recognize this place, then?" Barry asks from the driver's seat. I swear I can hear him smirk back here.

"You knew it all the time since you gave me the file, didn't you?" It's more a statement than a question, really.

The old man even manages to feign a somewhat believable hurt expression for me to see in the rear mirror. "Of course not. Who do you think I am?"

_Don't play coy, buddy. I know you knew._

Instead of calling his bluff, I rather move on to more pressing matters. "Any intel on where to actually find him?"

Barry only shrugs. "Nothing concrete at least. Get to the top floor where the release party is happening and try to find him there. The rest of the building is locked tight, apparently they rather expect a crazed fan than a bombing."

_Great, just great…_

I shrug the suit jacket on that has been lying on the back seat. of the limousine.

"Don't forget, I'll be in the back."

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, _dad_," I snark.

With that, I make my way up to the building's entrance. I show my ID to the bouncers who check it against their list. To my pleasant surprise, I am indeed on the list. I am on the list for a book release party with the real persons from the show! Oh, if only my fellow Castle fans could see me now, they'd be green of envy.

Well, not of the 'catching a terrorist' part maybe, but still.

When I get into the elevator to the roof and the doors close, soft music is playing. I recognize it as 'the boy from Ipanema'. Again. Seriously, what is it with elevators in fancy buildings and bossa nova?

The elevator softly dings and opens its doors to reveal a whole new world for me. The roof is buzzing with life and chatter and laughter; if it were not for the bombastic view over New York City, you might think you're in the middle of a fancy club.

Well, color me impressed. Or rather, overwhelmed. I'll have to concentrate to keep my eyes on the objective. But it won't hurt to mingle a bit, right?

As I weave through the crowd I catch a quick glimpse of _the _Richard Castle, although that isn't that hard, to be honest. He's the guy in the corner who's getting lit up almost constantly by the photographers' flashes. No wonder he wears sunglasses in the middle of the night.

I'm tempted to ask for an autograph (but not on my chest like many others - that would be just awkward, with me being a guy and all), but considering that I was brought into this specific universe for a reason, I doubt this will stay the only occasion I run into him, so I guess I have a few more opportunities to ask. And I will ask. Because no way I'll be walking through this universe without an autograph of Richard Castle. Mark my words.

It takes at least fifteen minutes, maybe even more, to travel across the roof. I feel like I'm on an expedition instead of a party. Through sheer luck, however, I end up at the second-most important place of the evening, right after the booth with the new books: The bar. With a soft thud I let myself plop down on one of the bar stools. The perfect place to observe. Not only does one look inconspicuous sitting at a bar, the mirrored back provides excellent angles for the entire roof. Kudos to the man who placed the bar in the corner. Must've read one too many spy novels. Or more specifically, Derrick Storm novels.

I don't even bother ordering a glass of champagne. Not only would it be unprofessional to drink "on the job", it's not even legal age-wise. I hate my new old age.

A coke it is, then.

The barkeeper gives me a wry look before putting the glass in front of me. Seems like they're not used to serve minors.

"Another one for me, too, please, and hurry up, before my dad tries to get me round to drink champagne. Again."

I turn my head to look at the person the new voice belongs to. You can imagine my surprise to see a familiar redhead looking up from her books and smiling at me.

"Which is of course wildly inappropriate for minors like us, right?" I stage-whisper back.

"Could you please tell him that? He thinks I'm the only one my age who doesn't drink alcohol. And I still have to learn for my physics test next week, ugh!" she exclaims and throws up her hands in exasperation.

Which, incidentally, topples the near empty glass of coke in front of her. Which happens to fall in my direction, which I happen to catch, thanks to the Intersect, of course. There's no way in hell I could've have reacted so fast before. Not even when I was still 'almost-professionally' playing Snap.

"Ninja skills," I answer her unasked question. It's not even a lie, if you think about it.

"You know that's something my dad would say," she tells me with a slight grin.

"Your dad sounds like a handful." I reply in a similar fashion.

I think I hear her muttering something along the lines of "You have no idea", but as she says it with a hidden grin and a headshake, I leave it well enough alone.

"I'm Jonny. Jonny Gerthson," I say and extend my hand.

She shakes the offered hand with a small smile, but not before putting her glass out of range. "Alexis. Alexis Castle."

I feign slight surprise and raise a single eyebrow. "Well, that explains why you're here, but not why you're learning physics at a book release party."

She sighs and buries her head in her hands. "It's not that I'm not good with physics. I'm just always freaking out a little before an exam if I didn't spend every possible minute on learning."

I shrug and sip at my coke. "Like my old teacher said, 'Physics is easy, once you know how to do it'." That may be a little unfair, given that I already have three semesters electrical engineering under my belt in my old dimension, but she can handle the teasing.

"Shut up," she grumbles. I only laugh.

Alexis narrows her eyes at me. "Why are you here, by the way?"

_Oh dear, here we go. _"I'm supposed to meet my Uncle Barry here, but I haven't seen him yet." As soon as I said it, I see my target appear in the edges of my vision. I crane my head so I can see him in the mirror. "Which just changed, I think."

"The mirror trick, huh? Going for the classics; nice."

"What can I say, I'm an old soul." I motion to the barkeeper for a pen and paper and scribble down my number.

I push it over to her and smile at her questioning look. "If you ever have problems with physics or math… let's just say I might've been an engineer in another life." I chuckle at my inside joke. "Or you could call for no reason at all, really."

With a wave and a wry smile, I leave the bar. I've got a terrorist to catch-22.

* * *

**I LIKE WRITING CLIFFHANGERS! Just wanted to say that :D And preemptively declare that any skills Jonathan Gerthson (aka my alter ego) has that are not explained via the Intersect are my own, and do not add to the character's Mary-Sue-ish-ness :P He has enough of that going on on his own :D If you do not know what a Mary Sue (or, as this character is male, Marty Stu) is, don't worry. I hope you don't need to know about that in this story anyway. If you want to read up on it, the article on TVtropes or on Wikipedia are just fine.**


	5. Party Crashers Out

**A/N: JG's personality and wit etc. originates directly from me myself (thus SELF insert). Only the ninja stuff (and other stuff to which we will come eventually) is from the Intersect. Just wanted to clarify :D**

**The next chapters might be a little shorter than usual, as exams are coming up. I try to still update weekly as the ficathon rules demand, though.**

* * *

**Chapter 5: Party Crashers Out!**

After I leave Alexis at the bar, I weave through the crowd, slowly making my way over to the terrorist threatening to blow this place to pieces, along with the Castle family and possibly Kate Beckett, not to mention all the other guests at the party.

I don't know how a terrorist is supposed to look like, but I'm pretty sure this guy does not look like that. With the expensive suit, the Ivy League haircut and the clean-shaven face, he looks more like a lawyer than a terrorist. I suppose for some, this is one and the same, but that's a thought for another day.

The bastard dares to spot a smug grin while sipping from his champagne flute. Don't get me wrong, I like it when things go boom, my old chemistry teachers can attest to that, but you should blow stuff up responsibly.

And always wear your seatbelt.

Anyway, I still don't know how to take him out, especially given that there's probably over a hundred people here, not to mention security. Then it hits me.

Or more specifically, the Intersect hits me. With a flash of information on how to take out a guy silently. I mentally sift through the options, a bit disgruntled with the choices. I'm at a book release party, not on a battlefield! Then I find a few that seem to be preferred by spies. I'm not exactly in the spy business, but the clandestine approach is perfect.

With newfound confidence I walk up to my target. I tap him on the shoulder and he turns around.

"Sean?! I knew it was you!" I exclaim with a large smile on my face and pull the surprised man into a bear hug, which he awkwardly returns, the hand holding the flute stretched out while the other pats my back.

He's maybe four inches taller than I, so it (hopefully) doesn't look so suspicious that I pull him down at his neck, because pulling him down is not the only thing I do with his neck. I palpate it for the exact spot and before the guy realizes what I'm doing, I already press down hard once I've found it. The guy slumps down in my arms, unconscious, and the flute that escapes his paralyzed hands bursts into pieces when it hits the ground.

God, I love pressure points.

I put his arm around my shoulders and drag him to the emergency exit. Judging by the lack of distained looks, this is not a rare sight.

"Excuse me, sir. This area is off limits. What are you doing here with him?" a security guy asks me and points at the unconscious figure slung around my shoulders.

"Oh, this guy just had too much to drink and fell asleep. Is there a way out other than the front entrance? I'm sure he would appreciate it if his drunk face didn't appear on page six tomorrow, don't you think?" I explain with a wry smile.

He nods back knowingly and opens the door to the stairway.

"Thanks, pal."

Wow. Didn't think this would work, but hey, I'll take what I can get. If you act as if you belong somewhere, most people don't question you. I may be only fifteen years old, but the way people acted around me I might as well be thirty. Seriously, with security like this, I'm wondering how they managed so long without an incident.

I take him down the stairs, which isn't that easy, considering the guy weighs at least one-fifty pounds and is unconscious. I constantly have to look out for not tripping over him or getting pulled down by the guy. Ugh, why did I take the stairs again? The door that marks the exit finally comes into view and thankfully, is unlocked. I wonder if I could get back in afterwards? Maybe mingle a little bit so no one takes notice of me leaving at the same time with this guy…

Anyhow, Barry is already standing outside, leaning against the limo. He smirks when he sees me struggling with the dead weight around my shoulders.

"A little help here?" I wheeze. He comes around and takes the unconscious man from me with little effort.

"Looks like we have to work on your physical condition," he remarks deadpan as he throws the guy in the back.

I answer with a growl. "Shut up." I bow down to pick up a little wooden wedge to hold the door open while I'm… busy… with our catch.

Mission accomplished.

"Judging by your grin, everything went without a hitch?" he inquires.

"Yep."

"What kind of bomb did he use?"

My head snaps back up. "What?"

"You know, how did it look? Had the Intersect a make and model for it?"

My mouth opens and forms an O. "Daaaaaaamn…"

Barry stops what he's doing and stares at me with open mouth. "Please don't tell me you forgot the bomb," he groans.

"Well… kinda…"

"You moron!" he explodes. "I get this assignment and have actually hopes everything will be going better than the last times, and the guy they send seems to actually have a brain for a change, and then he forgets to _disarm the bloody bomb_ when he has to catch a _bomber on the job._"

Yeah, well, I kinda deserved that.

He motions into the back of the car. "Get in!"

I don't budge. "Really? Why are we going? I thought I should disarm the bomb first."

Barry actually facepalms at that. "We're not going anywhere until that bomb is disarmed. But we have no idea where the damn thing is, so you are going in there and reverse whatever karate mumbo jumbo you did to that bastard and get the location out of him!"

"I have you know that I pushed a pressure point, that's not karate mumbo jumbo," I huff as I get into the back of the stretch limo.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever," Barry grumbles.

Thanks to the Intersect, I know which point wakes him up again. When I push it, the guy shoots up and bumps his head into the ceiling.

"Hi there," I greet him with a big smile. "How about you make it easy for yourself and just tell me where you hid the bomb?"

The guy is still dazed and I can tell he's freaked out that I know about the bomb and that he doesn't know where he is.

"What bomb?" he groans.

"Do we really have to do this?" I sigh. "Can't we just hide his body and get this over with?" I whine to Barry. Of course I won't do it...

… but he doesn't know that.

"You can't do that," he screeches. At least he doesn't have the smug grin on his face anymore.

"Well, that would be true if I were law enforcement. Problem is, I'm more like a… private contractor, if you will. I'm sure the FBI is _dying _to get more acquainted with you. Now if you would kindly tell me where you planted the bomb, I would be much obliged. Oh, don't look so surprised that I know of the bomb. I even give you a choice. You tell me what I want to know, I knock you out, I give you to the FBI. Or, I hurt you until you tell me what I want to know, I knock you out, I give you to the FBI. What will it be, hm?"

"I'll talk, I'll talk!" he exclaimed, his voice now having reached a rather disturbing falsetto. "It's on the twenty-sixth floor, directly under the roof. It's in the supply closet closest to the south-eastern corner, at the support beam. But it's already activated, you can't disarm it anymore!"

I smirk. "Let me worry about disarming it; but thank you for your cooperation. The FBI thanks you."

With that, I sock him right in the face, knocking him out cold.

"I'll keep him under wraps until you've done your bloody job. Moron."

Guess it will take some time for Barry to warm up again. Batman has a father figure for a butler. Lara Croft has a father figure for a butler. And I get an old man who calls me moron. This is just great.

I go back into the building and look up. Great, climbing fifty-two flights of stairs. I can't wait. Really. But I rather look on the bright side. This time I don't have an unconscious body threatening to pull me down.

About fifteen minutes later, I finally arrive at the twenty-sixth floor, panting as if I just ran a goddamn marathon. Excuse the cuss, but believe me, after fifty-two flights of stairs, you would cuss, too.

Now where the hell is south-west?

To my pleasant surprise, the rooms are labeled after the cardinal direction they're facing. South… South… West. I jog across the hallway and look out for a broom symbol or something similar significant.

Finding the door I was looking for, I try the door knob.

Locked. Just my luck.

I place my foot an inch to the side of the lock and kick down hard. No dropkick, no shoulder ram, but it gets the job done. The door creaks under my weight and gives in. It's not even as loud as I had imagined.

This mission is awesome. Getting the Intersect, using pressure points, fighting terrorists, kicking in doors, hopefully disarming bombs… where's my hot superspy sidekick?

Once I'm in, I turn on the light. No sense running blind. Well, that was slightly unnecessary as it turns out. The big blinking mess with the countdown is not hard to spot.

I rush over.

Forty-seven seconds left.

The Intersect mentally knocks before it dumps the blueprints to the bomb into my brain. At least it has learned at least a little common courtesy.

Looks like I'm not the only moron today. The bomber was right when he said it couldn't be 'deactivated' - at least in the original sense. The electronics that would detonate the bomb are openly lying on the ground. Even if it would set off the bomb if I cut a wire, the circuits are unprotected. Which means, I smash my boot into the circuit board. I'm not sure if it worked, as the display fritzed out, but I'm still alive, so I have at least that going for me, which is nice.

After a very long minute in which the bomb apparently opted to stay put, I let out a sigh.

Interesting first day "at work". At least I don't have to go buy new pants.

* * *

**So… first job's over! :D I'm surprised to have actually updated once a week for the past four chapters… Not caring about logic can do that for you :D**

**See you next week :)**

**OnkelJo**


	6. Glug-Glug Boom

**Well… it looks like I really skidded into the crackfic genre… but to save my honor, I was perfectly sober whenever I worked on this story. Always.**

**One week until exams are up. Ugh. Approximately eight weeks per semester, being an IT student sucks.**

* * *

**Chapter 6: Glug-glug boom**

Once the bomb is disarmed and I am safely back in the confines of the stretch limo, Barry plunges a syringe into the terrorist's arm with enough force to make me cringe, despite the fact that it's not me who is on the wrong end of the needle.

"What are you injecting him with?" I don't really wanna know, but I ask anyway.

"A little wonder drug that wipes his short term memory clean. Along with a little tiny amount of my home-brewed tranquilizer, he might as well wake up in a car wreck in the desert and have no idea he wasn't in an accident."

"That's… totally not creepy and I'm sure you don't know this from experience. No problem at all over here."

Barry grins smugly. "That's what I thought."

For me, grown up in a rural area, New Yorks nightlife is quite a sight to behold. It's not even midnight and the city is still buzzing with life. Our unconscious pal in the back is not.

Such a downer.

"Something crazy's going to happen, isn't it?" I ask.

"How did you guess? We prep him and let him be found via an anonymous phone tip. You don't have to be a superspy to know that."

I wouldn't know the first thing about that, but I'm pretty sure Barry knows his stuff. For all I know, he could be a spy in a former 'life'. 'Reality'. 'Whatever'. Or a saboteur in the French resistance. Who knows? Anyhow, I probably would've escorted our pal in the back into the closest FBI office and be done with it.

To my surprise, we stop at the loft.

"What's wrong?" I ask him.

"Get out. You did not half-bad, if you don't count the missed bomb; it was more than I honestly expected from you, actually. But this is out of your league, lad. Go enjoy a job well done. Moron." the gruff butler says. I think in the meantime, 'moron' became a sort of endearment he uses for me. I might be wrong about it, but I like to think so, anyway.

I nod to the door man as I step into the elevator and press the button for the penthouse loft. I go back over everything crazy that happened to me in the past (conscious) day to the sounds of 'The Boy from Ipanema'. Weird how they don't even bother changing the music once in a while.

Anyhow, while disarming a bomb with less than a minute to go is surely exhilarating, to say the least, it's really bad once the adrenaline wears off. Just saying.

I can barely pull myself over to the couch before I collapse and…

* * *

I wake up with a gasp to find myself drenched in ice-cold water, and Barry standing in front of me with an empty bucket and a smug grin on his face; one I'm willing to wipe off… once I'm awake.

"Rise and shine, sleeping beauty!" He yells happily.

"Shut up or go away, preferably both… besides, it's scientifically proven that waking people like this is detrimental for their health."

"I know, and I don't care," Barry says with a smile. "In our line of work, what is a minute more off our natural life expectancy, eh?"

He slaps me hard on the back. Ouch.

"Can you switch the tv on?" I ask Barry. "Preferably cartoons." I yell after him as he vanishes into the kitchen already.

When I finally get up grumbling, I scuffle through the cold hallway and enter the kitchen only to find Barry standing frozen at the counter with a slack jaw over a bowl of cereals. I haven't known him for long, but even I know that if Barry looks like this, there's only one admissible reaction.

_Oh… shit…_

My head slowly turns to the screen which, of course, shows the news.

"_... will not rest until this cruel murderer is brought to justice."_

"_Captain Montgomery, what are you doing to achieve this?"_

"_Well, of course I can't disclose anything about ongoing investigations, but I can tell you that I put my best team on the case. I'm confident Detectives Beckett, Ryan and Esposito will catch the killer."_

"_Thank you Captain Montgomery. This was Jane Valderamma for Channel 6, reporting from the crime scene of a murder that shakes the city. Infamous terrorist Jack Harper was found dead this morning almost on the doorsteps of the twelfth precinct. Channel 6 will keep you updated."_

The image collapses into a black screen as Barry turns off the tv.

"Well, that went slightly worse than expected," he deadpans.

"No kidding, Barry. What made you think killing the guy we're supposed to deliver to the FBI, on the freaking _doorsteps of the twelfth _of all places, was a good idea? Because even a moron such as myself can tell you, that was not a good idea."

"I know that myself, lad. Why didn't you tell me that the guy had drunk alcohol?" he grumbles.

I stare at him in shock. "That's it? That's the whole dilemma about? He freaking died because of a single champagne flute?" I guffaw. "Oh, that's precious."

"Shut your trap," the butler slash inadvertent murderer growls. "The concoction is perfectly safe, unless it meets alcohol in the blood. Then the following chemical reaction can be quite… volatile… if given enough time. They probably found him either with a big hole or without lower body."

Meanwhile, I'm clutching my sides because I'm laughing my ass off.

Then it knocks on the door.

"Who is it?" Barry yells.

"NYPD; we want to talk with you about a murder that took place this morning."

_Oh… shit…_

* * *

**Aaaand cliffhanger! :D Did you really think the attempted bombing was only a cheap plot tool to get into the party? Well, as you see, you're wrong then :) :D Little nods to but not limited to Mass Effect, Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, Saints Row and Chuck.**

**Unlike some other crackfics, this one actually has a plot :P**

**This is the first of the few chapters that are cut a little short because I sadly have exams to prepare for. Curse you, mathematics III!**


	7. First Impressions

**A/N: Has it really been one and a half months since I started this story already? I can't say I expected that. Also, huge thanks to Angie ( dtrekker), who graciously agreed to create this wonderful cover art.  
**

* * *

**Chapter 7: First Impressions  
**

_Then it knocks on the door._

"_Who is it?" Barry yells._

"_NYPD; we want to talk with you about a murder that took place this morning."_

_Oh… shit…_

Barry swallows loudly and moves to open the door and I follow, but he turns around before reaching the door and presses me against the wall.

"No snitching," he whispers harshly, turning to the door again already and yelling "I'm coming!" to the familiar voice outside.

When he opens the door, me in tow, a tall brunette in a red coat stands outside with a professional smile on her face, her badge in her hand, and a boyish looking irishman standing behind her. Judging by the looks, the murder tore them from their sleep a few hours ago.

"Detectives Kate Beckett and Kevin Ryan, NYPD. We have a few questions for Jonathan Gerthson, if you don't mind."

Barry moves to the side and opens the door wide. "Sure, no problem. Please come in. He's right here."

We transfer the talk from the doorstep to the living room, where we all sit down on the cushy sofas. Time to make her squirm.

"Nice to meet you, detectives," I say as I shake their hands. Then I narrow my eyes at Beckett. "Didn't I see you yesterday at Rick Castle's book release party?"

Her mouth pulls together to a flat line. "Maybe," she answers with a monotone voice, as if it is embarrassing for her. "I was there, but for another reason."

"Oh? So you're a fan of his work then, too? I loved his work since I was a kid. What with justice always being served, I think." Which is pretty ironic, given that I try to make the exact opposite happen in this case.

"No… Yes. But that's not… I was there for another case. Now, do you recognize this man?"

She pulls out a photo of a man and slaps it on the table in front of me.

As expected, it is the guy I… apprehended… last night.

"Yeah, that's the guy who slumped into my arms last night. Is he the victim or the suspect?" I ask.

"... Victim. So he just… happened to fall into your arms?" she asks.

"Pretty much, yeah. I tipped him on the shoulder, because he kinda looked like my uncle from behind. He turned around and apparently that was not good for his balance because he literally fell into my arms. Judging from his breath, he had one flute too much, I say. He whispered something of a limo waiting for him outside before he blacked out entirely."

"And what did you do then?" Ryan speaks up.

"I couldn't just leave him there lying on the dance floor, could I? As he already had a limo waiting, I took off for the nearest exit and took him downstairs with me. I figured, the people there are mostly rich, which means easy prey for the scandal sheets' page six. If nothing else he shouldn't have to endure that. Vultures, the whole lot of them. I took him down the stairs and out the back exit, where a limo waited already for him. The driver climbed out and took him with him, but I didn't want to go back to the party because my suit had sweat patches on it from the exertion of pulling him with me quite a couple of stairs. So I called Barry and returned to the loft."

This time it's Beckett again. "Let's say I believe you. Can anyone confirm that?"

Not that I could hold thinking that against her. But it hurts a little that a lie so close to the truth is absolutely unbelievable to her.

"Well, I'll answer that, although it almost sounds as if I'm a suspect. There was a security guy who saw me leave with him from the rooftop, then the driver who took him from me, then Barry here picked me up, then the night shift's door man saw me when I came here to sleep shortly after midnight. I think that accounts to something, yes?"

"Of course, Jonathan." "Please, call me Jonny." "Fine. Of course, Jonny. You're not a suspect," _anymore_, "you're a person of interest. We're just piecing the final hours of the victim's life back together, and you're one of the last persons to have seen him alive. I think he would've been grateful to be kept out of the scandal sheets' clutches, by the way," she says with a small smirk forming on her face.

Apparently she likes reporters as much as I do.

She and Ryan stand up, wanting to leave.

"Here's my card. If you can think of anything useful, give me a call."

Considering she's investigating a terrorist's murder, she's surprisingly calm and collected. Not a single peep that would tell this is a special case. Well, she _is _a by-the-book cop.

"If I wouldn't know any better, I'd say people are starting to drop like flies around me," I say as I accompany the two detectives to the door.

Kate Beckett's head turns around. "Not the first murder in your vicinity recently?"

I snort. "I'm in New York. Of course it's not the first murder in my vicinity. But anyway, my friend Alison was found murdered yesterday. Such a shame. She was such a bright young woman. I liked her, you know. Not 'like like' her, but I admired her work. From socialite to social worker. Hey, that's a good headline."

The detective stops in her tracks and faces me completely. "Alison Tisdale, the 'heiress' to the Tisdale Imperium?"

"That's the one. Although I wouldn't say heiress. Sounds weird. You knew her?"

She looks a mite uncomfortable."No... I'm investigating her murder."

"It has to be so hard for her brother. First the financial problems, and now his sister is dead. Well, at least the financial problems will be gone when his father eventually succumbs to his cancer. Not that it would lessen the grief, and that's a totally dark thought, I know, but what else can you see optimistically in this whole mess?" I say with a shake of the head.

She chews on her lip, but stops after a few moments when she realizes what she's doing. "Huh. That's interesting. Thank you for your time, Jonny."

"Anytime."

The seed of doubt is planted. Let's hope she and Castle will get the hint.

The two detectives walk for the elevator, while I close the door and slide down with my back to it. Didn't think they would work this fast. Well, didn't think they would work this case at all. It's all Barry's fault.

Moron.

* * *

**Next week, probably no update on monday. Four exams in one week tend to do that to your freetime. Preliminary schedule: Thursday next week, tuesday the week after that, and then mondays as usual.**

**Maybe I should really start planning my story. Having to write an interrogation with Beckett can get taunting pretty quickly. It demanded to be perfect, and I ended up like my main character, quite figuratively. With the back to the door, not in another reality/dimension thing. And crying, don't forget crying. Well, not really, but I might as well have been; this was not at all as good as I wanted it to be, as it **_**itself **_**wanted it to be, but here you go.**


	8. Internal Affairs

**A/N: Only one more exam to go! And with luck, I'll pass all five from these past two weeks :D I should probably learn right now for the last one, but A, I promised a chapter on Tuesday, and B, my mind's still scrambled from the exam earlier today, so I needed to do something different anyway. Have fun! Oh, and something a little more sci-fi-ish ahead.**

* * *

**Chapter 8: Internal Affairs**

It's been a few days since the two detectives paid us a visit, and it hasn't been pretty. Barrymore's actions on the 'mission' didn't go unnoticed with his higher-ups in this ominous company the G-Man works for. I had to stay back each time they brought him in for questioning, and each time he came back with a bigger raincloud over his face.

I hadn't known they were so strict about their missions. It's like a job, really. Which annoys me to no end. Granted, the benefits are great, but I'm an engineer, not a superspy. I don't need the thrill of near-death-experiences to enjoy life.

Now, four days after the incident, they are finally going to question me. I'm so not looking forward to it. The G-Man even came by to accompany me, but his presence doesn't do much to calm my nerves. He takes me to a room in the loft I wasn't allowed in before. The white-painted room is naked, save for the pedestal in the middle.

"Don't... worry, Mr. Gerthson. The Elders don't... bite," he assures me when he sees my doubtful look. "They do... demand respect, but... you have nothing... to fear. Your... mission allows way more... leeway than your butler's."

He crosses the distance to the pedestal, but I stay back at the door, trying to process what he just told me.

"Who are the Elders?"

He looks at me over his shoulder. "Essentially, you can... think of them as... some sort of... Internal Affairs Division for my... employer's company."

His measured and broken cadence of his voice are really starting to piss me off, but that might be because I'm about to meet some crazy powerful people and I just can't deal with him right now.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" I ask, my stubborn streak flaring.

G-Man, probably used to unwilling assets, only chuckles. "You'll see... soon enough."

He lays his hand on the pedestal which scans the hand print and accepts it with a green flash. A loud rumble goes through the room and the walls start groaning in protest.

Following common sense, I try to leave the room, but the instant my foot leaves the ground to back out, I lose balance and crash into the floor ass first. When I tilt my head back, I can only see the door getting farther and farther away. It's almost as if the pedestal tries to suck me in. I scramble back on all fours in some kind of twisted crab walk, but to no avail.

"Struggle is... an illusion, Mr. Gerthson."

With that said, I reach the pedestal. As I've somehow come to expect, everything turns black and the familiar feeling of being stuck on a rack pitches in.

I hate dimension hopping.

When I wake up, I can't open my eyes wide, only enough to see that my hands and feet are strapped with leather cuffs to a wire seat, reminding me a little of an electric chair.

"Don't worry, we're not going to fry you," a loud voice booms, "the restraints are solely to keep you from harming yourself. Interdimensional travel isn't a very gentle process, I'm afraid."

_You don't say._

The voice itself however, although almost painfully loud, has a rather pleasant ring to it and an accent I can't place. Remotely French, maybe? Ugh, I don't know. At least I know it's a female voice, an attractive one at that, so I've got this going for me, which is nice.

I shake my head to get rid of the webbing clouding my brain and force my eyes open. The only light source of the room, a naked light bulb, is burning brightly over my head, dipping the better part of the room in darkness.

A sudden whirring noise makes me look around to figure out where the sound comes from until I'm pressed into the seat as the whole contraption abruptly starts accelerating.

When the chair stops again, the leather cuffs fall off with a clunk, having been held together by strong magnets only.

"They look like a kinkier version of those magnetic healing bracelets or what they're called. I never liked the original. And I definitely don't like this version," I say and rub my wrists gingerly.

"True, true. But as I said, they are necessary, even if they are an inconvenience, especially if the traveler is resisting," The same voice as before says. She sounds almost apologetically.

"I think I would feel better already if you just showed yourself."

"As you wish." I can even hear the shrug that accompanies that.

A row of neon lights flicker alive, the cold light revealing the person behind the bodiless voice I've been hearing.

A woman walks up to the chair, takes my hand and pulls me up with impressive ease. When I stand again, I finally take in the woman before me.

About thirty years old, this woman could easily pass as a Snow White double if not for the soft tan instead of milky white skin. And maybe the hair is a little short for that role, but that's probably just me.

"Thank you," she says with barely hidden mirth.

"Err… you're welcome… for what again?"

Now she's outright grinning. "For comparing me to Snow White, it's one of my favorite fairy tales."

"Oh, did I say that out loud? Shoot, I didn't realize," I mutter as I feel a furious blush creeping up my face.

The woman bites her lip, I'd guess to hide her amusement. "No, Jonathan. We can read minds."

I think if I get any redder, tomatoes will start greeting me as a kinsman.

"Erm, yeah… good to know. Now… I think I have an appointment here? Combusted terrorist, New York, Castle Universe?"

"Yes. We know," I hear, and it's followed by a chuckle.

"Course you do," I grumble. "No offense, but I imagined the Elders to be a bit…"

"Older?" she asks and raises an eyebrow when I nod sheepishly. "Well, time is a rather odd thing in this meta dimension. I am here since before the pyramids of Giza were built."

My eyes get big as saucers. _What the…? _"You look good for your age." is out of my mouth before I can think of stopping it.

Another chuckle. "Thank you. That's always nice to hear. I'm Cassandra, by the way. I will lead the investigation in your mission's case."

"And what are you trying to find out?" I ask.

In answer, Cassandra gives me a smile. "The truth."

* * *

**A short one, maybe the next will already be a bit longer, the one after that at the latest, though.**


	9. There And Back Again

**A/N: I'm sorry that this comes two days later than expected. Something came up, unfortunately. Now, however, I have all the time I want: semester break :) I try to get into my usual schedule of updating on Castle Mondays as soon as possible. Maybe even next week already… But enough talk, without further ado, I present…**

* * *

**Chapter 9: There And Back Again**

"So, Elder… what do you want to know?"

"How about you go back to the start, when you came to the new reality? I was told this was your first mission, so it shouldn't take too long."

"Alright, if you wish…"

With that, I start telling my story in an easy pace, giving an accurate account of what happened up until now, stopping only to answer Cassandra's questions.

* * *

"... and I haven't heard from her since. I know it was a risk letting her know about a few things of the other case she's working, but it was necessary. She has to prioritize and with that, she would have overlooked the wrong details in an otherwise pretty obvious case, giving Castle no chance to solve a murder together. I can't see the future, but as someone put it accurately, I can try to pile up stones to influence the flow of possibilities."

Cassandra quirks an eyebrow. "Awfully poetic, don't you think?"

I shrug in response. "True, but they aren't my words, anyway. Do you know a better analogy?"

"No. I'm not the poetic type, either," she replies with a laugh.

"_Any way you want it, that's the way you need it, any way you want it…" _a scratchy tune interrupts us. I look around only to realize it's my cell phone ringing.

I pull it out and look at it curiously. "Wow, didn't think that thing would work here. Almost full reception, too. Can I stay here?" I ask with a smile that holds until I see the sharp glare Cassandra throws my way.

"I activated this boon for emergencies only," she tells me with thinly veiled annoyance.

I look on the display, but I don't know the caller. "Unknown number. Huh. I don't even know who has my number. I gave it only to… I should probably take this."

I hold up a finger and accept the call, nonchalantly avoiding eye contact with Cassandra.

"Gerthson… Hi, Alexis. … Of course I can, I promised it, didn't I?... Sure, just text me the problem and I'll see what I can do. … You're welcome; though it could take a little while, I have something on the stove that needs constant supervision. … Oh well, if the class is the day after tomorrow, then there's no problem at all. … Yeah, you, too. Bye!"

I end the call and turn my head up again fearing the worst. True to my fears, the former sharp glare has now taken a murderous form.

A sharp knocking sound disturbs the awkward silence and probably saves me. "NYPD, open up."

Although… now that I think of it… maybe I should stay here.

"What the…? What is going on? I thought we were in another dimension. Cell phone, fine, I can believe that, or at least accept it, but noises from the loft?"

The readiness to kill has vanished from the elder's face and is replaced by a nervous frown. "We _are _in a different dimension, but I have installed some sort of door bell in yours. Like your cell, in a way. No time to talk further. You have to go back. Right now."

This is just great. That has to be my… third trip this week? I'm wondering if I get bonus miles for interdimensional traveling.

With that thought, I black out. Again.

* * *

A crashing sound from the entrance. The detectives have gained entrance with force then. Great, I have no idea how much the door has cost, but considering the rest of the loft is goshdarn expensive, I doubt the door will be much different.

I'm still in the room with the cursed pedestal. Note to self: Remember to remove this piece of trash as soon as possible. I'm not eager for another trip yet again.

Knowing it to be futile, I don't even try to open my eyes. I'm pretty much content with lying here right now, and the floor isn't so uncomfortable, either; considering, anyway. I swear, Cassandra pulled me back here extra fast as payback for the call. One fact about interdimensional travel I figured out already is that it is way more comfortable the more time you take for it. Kinda like traveling by car. In a weird, twisted way.

When I do get my eyes open, the first thing I notice is the red haze, which, as the Intersect informs me promptly, is caused by bleeding eyes.

Gross.

The door flies open and reveals a bulky person who apparently has a gun trained on me. I have no idea how I'm still conscious with how much pain I'm in, but hey, I take what I can get, right?

"NYPD! Don't move! You're under… oh shit… Yo Beckett! I got 'im! Call an ambulance, right now! The kid's beat up really bad! Hang on, fella. We gotcha."

"It's nothing, bro," I wheeze. Damn, she did me in pretty good there. "Just a little… scratch."

And again it's nap time. Finally.

* * *

"Kid, I don't know how you get to live so dangerously in your age, but I'd suggest refraining from near-death experiences in the future. They're not exactly healthy, you know."

I open one eye and spy who dares disturbing me. The sight, alas, is not an unfamiliar one. A doctor who reminds me way too much of uncle Jessie watches me with a serious face.

Well, there are better things to wake up to. Like breakfast in bed. Or a beautiful woman. Hell, even a happy, slobbering dog in your face is better than waking up in the hospital.

"Damn it, and I wanted to go dimension-hopping just this weekend," I deadpan. "Dr. Davidson was it, right? It's nice to see a familiar face here."

"Yep. But please, don't get yourself injured to meet me. I like you, too, but not in that way."

That makes me laugh, but I realize soon enough that he shouldn't have. "Ha ha, h… ow, don't make me laugh, damn it. I'm sore _everywhere. _And when I say _everywhere, _I mean _everywhere,_" I groan.

He pats me on the shoulder and already turns to go. "Well, let it teach you a lesson. That's twice in a week that you spent more than forty eight hours unconscious. Don't make it a habit.

Wait a minute…

"_How long _was I out?!" I yell.

"Three days. You've even been under police protection the whole time, for whatever reason. Well, now that that's said, I've got other patients to take care of, and you're good to go. So, take care of yourself. Doctor's orders."

_Well… shit. _I totally forgot that I'm under arrest. Sort of. They didn't read me my Miranda Rights, so if push comes to shove, I've still got an ace up my sleeve. Onto more pressing matters…

_Alexis._

She had a physics problem I was to help her solve. For _yesterday's _class_. She _calls _me _for help, I agree, and then let her hang to dry. Oh boy, I've screwed up badly, haven't I?

I frantically look around in the spartanic hospital room, but no sight of my cell phone. Looks like the police took it. Why do they have to be so thorough?

On the other hand, I have no idea what I would say.

"_Hey, Alexis, I'm sorry I couldn't help you with your problem. I was arrested, but ended up in a hospital instead. Why? Oh, I'm just suffering the side effects from interdimensional travel, don't worry. Oh yes, I sure would like to be sent to the looney bin, thank you very much."_

Chuck. My. Life.

* * *

**Well… So that happened. :D I'll try to keep the "other dimension stuff" to a minimum, but some of it is necessary. We're back already, and I think I have to have a Castle binge for… ahem… research :D**

**On unrelated news, the exam on last week's Thursday went even better than expected. We had ninety minutes time, and after working through seven of eight pages (it said so on the bottom of the page), I look on my watch and think, "wow, half an hour for one page, that's doable." Then I turn the page and realize, page eight is empty, as placeholder for corrections. :D I don't know if you realize how rare it is here in my university department to be finished with an exam in time, let alone with half an hour to spare… in other words, it was super easy! And awesome! :D**


	10. Negotiations

**I know, I know… I said I wanted to update sooner. I admit, this time it's purely on me. I had to go save the world. From Alduin the World-Eater. :)**

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**Chapter 10: Negotiations**

Apparently being released from the hospital doesn't mean much to the police: I leave the hospital in cuffs and I am brought to the precinct immediately. That the G-Man had new instructions for me just minutes before I'm shipped off to the Twelfth doesn't really better my mood, to be honest.

I push back these thoughts as LT comes to pick me up in the lobby and bring me into the homicide division's interrogation room upstairs, where he tells me to wait.

And I wait.

And wait.

_Finally, _after what feels like hours, but was really only about twenty minutes according to my watch, Beckett and Esposito enter the room and take seats across from me.

What do I have to lose, really? Now that I think of it, not much. Hm… let's see if we can throw them off their game a little bit, shall we?

I lean forward with my hands folded and a friendly smile on my face. "Good afternoon, detectives. How can I help you?"

Already I can see Beckett's right eye twitch slightly, but both continue to look straight ahead at me. "You face charges of obstruction of justice, and accessory to murder, you do know that?" she asks deadpan.

"Of course I do!" No, I don't. Nice to know. "And yet, you're 'interviewing' me, a minor, who is all alone in interrogation against two hardened detectives. Isn't someone missing here?... Ah screw that, isn't there a waiver or something I can sign? I'm a big boy, I can handle an interrogation, even from you, Beckett." No, I don't. Maybe? "And you, too, Espo, of course. Wouldn't want to neglect the former Special Forces guy, would I?" I ask rhetorically and lean back in my seat, still with the same smile on my face.

_Now _I have their attention. And they even look at each other shocked. Left, right, and straight for the knock out! Okay, not really, but it's a good start.

"How do you know that?" Esposito asks. "No one outside this floor ever calls me Espo, and my past with the Special Forces isn't public knowledge."

Ahem… yeah… so it happens I _can _get their attention… as it turns out I'm also really bad at planning ahead. And as always when something like this happens, I fall back on what all people who didn't like doing their homework have perfected over the years.

I improvise.

I look around and my gaze settles on the camera in the corner of the room. "I… err… would _really _like a coffee right now. Detective Beckett, would you mind showing me the way?" I ask, desperately hoping she gets the hint.

She exchanges looks with Esposito, and apparently she wants to go, and Espo asks if she's serious, and she tells him that she can handle a fifteen year old boy. Seasons of reading 'oozing subtext' have made me rather good at this.

"All right. This way." With this, she leaves the table and an uncomfortable looking hispanic detective to walk into the bullpen, expecting me to follow, which I gladly do.

Once we're in the break room (which is hopefully not named in the same fashion as the interrogation room), the coffee machine comes into my view and I really, really want to fast forward to when Castle has already 'donated' a new one to relieve the division from monkey pee on battery acid.

She pours a cup of coffee and wordlessly holds it in my direction to which I only shake my head. "No, thanks. I don't drink coffee, I just want to talk."

Beckett shrugs and takes a sip herself from the offered cup. Her frown gets a little deeper when the vile fluid hits her taste buds, but she shows no other reaction. Commendable, surely.

Then she leans back against the counter and watches me intently over the rim of her cup, through the steam of the hot coffee. It's a little bit intimidating that I have to look up to her, but that's probably the four inch heels, at least partially.

"Now, I'm only here as a courtesy, Jonny. You want to talk? Fine, but first, you listen to me: the prosecutor is dying to try you as an adult and make an example out of you. He has to close this case fast and clean, or he can kiss his political career goodbye. I don't say I like this, in fact I really don't like this, but you have to give me something _really _good to make a deal. So what have you got for me that you couldn't say in front of the camera?"

"What I was going to say has changed a bit after what you just said, but it stayed basically the same: I can give you access to my network." When I see her sceptical expression, I push on. "I'm young to be an information broker, but… let's just say I inherited it. And before you ask, no, there was no criminal activity involved in the process." Unless interdimensional traveling is now outlawed, that is. "Whenever you're stuck, give me a call, I consult my network, and I come back with an answer. My network is also how I knew about your colleague's past, by the way. It won't solve a case for you directly, but I can point you to people you should talk to."

Beckett puts down the cup and crosses her arms. "You come into my precinct, charged with multiple crimes, and expect me to _hire _you?"

Her perfectly calm tone scares me a little, but I swallow my fear before forcing a smile onto my face.

"To 'hire' me would mean that you'll pay me. Which you won't, whether you accept my offer or not. Aside from the fact that the NYPD paying a minor for his services won't look good in public, I don't need it. Part of said inheritance was also a shitload of money, which allows me to live happily off the interest it's earning without having to work. Ever again. Truth is, I don't want to use my network for the forces of evil, which is what my predecessor did."

_I don't even know the guy, if there ever was one, but yeah._

"Which is also why I haven't sold a single piece of information, even though the offers has been quite lucrative. Fortunately, I don't have to worry about money, so I would much rather put it to good use; and if I'm any good at judging characters, then I'm talking to the right person. You seem to be someone who became a cop to help victims get justice when nobody else does, which means our goals align."

Her eyes narrow at that. "Don't think you know me."

I hold up my hands. "I don't. Just… consider my offer. In exchange for my services, all charges are to be dropped, and as a bonus, I start by helping you catch this 'killer'."

She gives me a flat look and leaves the break room without another word. I'm a bit lost, but after a few seconds of standing around rather dumbly, I follow her, just in time to hear her call for the cop who brought me up here.

"LT! Bring the little one to the holding cells, I have an unpleasant call to make."

Said cop winces, seeming to know exactly what she means by that. Which I don't. But, I am to be brought to the holding cells like a common lowlife anyway, so it's not like I even have to care about that.

He grabs me firmly at the arm and maneuvers me in the direction of the holding cells.

"I'm not little! You're only one or two inches taller than me, the rest are those damn heels," I manage to yell over my shoulder before we turn the corner to the holding cells.

I could swear I hear Ryan snickering.

* * *

**I'm only that much of an asshole is as a character :D A little fun fact on the side I found out while researching: Nathan Fillion is whopping twelve centimeters (about four inches I think) taller than Stana Katic. And you rarely notice that… that woman wears crazy high heels! Just saying.**

**As I'm not from the US and my knowledge of US law comes from tv shows, I don't claim any of the legal ongoings in my stories to be accurate. In case of doubt, it's artistic freedom ;)**


	11. Flexing Muscles

**Sorry for uploading so late :( On unrelated news, this story has now over 2,000 views! You lot are awesome :)  
**

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**Chapter 11: Flexing Muscles  
**

After a night in the holding cells, I can honestly say that I've slept on harder cots already. The holding cell is way better than what I had on my camping trip last year.

The one thing I didn't like during my 'jail time' was the solitude. Sometimes it's not that bad to be alone, and you should be really picky about your company in a cell anyway, but I'm a people person. I like to talk. Although, to be honest with myself, I should be glad I'm not in the same cell as a real criminal who might be partial to shutting me up permanently after suffering my rambling for a while.

Alas, it's no use to dwell on the past. The night's over and with luck I'll be working with the NYPD after today. If Beckett is truly considering my offer, that is. The move was a little desperate, I admit. Those work, too, though. From time to time. I enjoy what is left of my stay by dozing on my cot and awaiting the decision.

"Hey, boy-o!" a voice tears me from my thoughts. I know that voice. There's only one Irish in homicide, at least only one who would say boy-o.

"Good morning, detective Ryan," I answer him from my cot without even bothering to open my eyes, although I would have him right in my view, thanks to the cot facing the entrance.

"How did you know that?" he asks. "You know, I don't even want to know. From what I was told about you, the less I know about you, the better."

I snort at that. I'm pretty sure Ryan heard that from Esposito. They are both superstitious. To various extents, of course, and Esposito denies it more vehemently than Ryan (it's bad for his macho image), but they can't fool me. It's kind of adorable.

"Space magic, what else?... Just kidding, I'm an information broker. It's literally my job to know the people I'm dealing with. It's quite interesting what you can find out about someone if you dig a little. Detective Esposito's past with the Special Forces, detective Beckett's mom's murder, your undercover stint on the other side of the river..."

I open my eyes and see Ryan pale until he's ghostly white. "No one here in New York is supposed to know that," he mutters.

"Don't worry, I'm the only one who knows," probably, "I deal with secrets everyday, I know how to keep one. And no matter how today turns out, I will never sell you out."

"Why?" he asks.

"Never met a criminal with honor before?" I joke. "I'm not a bad guy. I want to help you guys." I add more seriously.

At that, he snorts with laughter. "As if Beckett hasn't enough on her plate with that writer Richard Castle following her like a lost puppy."

I sigh inwardly. At least something good came of it. "You arrested the brother for the Tisdale murder yet?"

"How did you... Never mind, the week was weird enough as it is. Yes, we did, the writer helped us actually, he solved the final puzzle with Beckett and was held at gunpoint by Tisdale at one point. Dumbass had the safety on though," he tells me with a chuckle, and I chime in for a few seconds before sobering up again.

"Not to be rude or anything, but did you come here for a reason maybe? I still have to hear from the DA's office if they want to make a deal with me or not."

"Oh, they don't," he tells me with a dismissive wave.

"What," is all I can bring out. Suddenly I can already see my house of lies crashing in around me, which ends with me spending some quality time with my new friends I'll make in jail, who will probably pimp me out in exchange for protection. I swallow nervously. Sometimes, I really hate my imagination.

"They don't want to make a deal," he explains.

I exhale loudly. 'They don't want to' doesn't necessarily mean 'they won't'.

"Actually, I came to take you to the captain. I think he wants to talk about that."

Not everything is lost then.

"Shiny," is all I say when Ryan opens the cell door and takes me with him.

* * *

Captain Montgomery looks up from the files he's working on when Ryan and I walk into his office.

"Is this the young one?" he asks, which Ryan answers with a nod. The captain motions for me to sit. "Thank you, detective Ryan. That would be all."

"But, sir..."

"You. are. Dismissed," the captain adds with a mild, admonishing look on his face. "Please wait outside, detective."

Ryan nods dejectedly and closes the door on his way out.

"Now, son, what I will say will not leave this room, understood?" I nod silently. "I believe it's a little improbable that a fifteen year old boy gets involved in two murder investigations, but as much as I believe that you're innocent, the DA needs a scapegoat, and you are at the wrong place at the wrong time. We can push for a deal, but that little party trick that scared one of my top detectives won't get you there. I'm willing to give you a shot if you can convince me."

Huh, didn't know it was both the Harper and the Tisdale case they want to pin on me. I guess it's understandable, at least. Who would know that much about a case and not be involved? I do have alibis for time of death in both cases, so I'm not accused of murder, but of accessory to murder. Anyhow, despite Montgomery's activities in the past, he's a respectable man who stands by his word. And there have been enough lies already.

"How secure is this room?" I ask.

The captain leans back and has an amused smile on his lips. "We're in the captain's office in the middle of a precinct. It doesn't get much secure than that, not counting jail, that is."

I resist the slight urge to roll my eyes before answering. Either he didn't get it or he toys with me. "I mean against bugs. My information is a potential powder keg, so I won't risk either of our lives by speaking of it with potential listeners."

Now his eyebrows shoot up almost to his former hairline. "What could you possibly have what is that hot to handle?"

Stiffening up in my seat, I fix him with a cool stare. "Don't let my age fool you, captain Montgomery. My network was working well already before I even took it over from my predecessor."

Montgomery steeples his fingers and mulls it over a few long moments before finally nodding. "Alright. Let's say I believe your intel is good, and dangerous. Room's not secure, though. Now what?"

Is he testing me? I have no idea, but I'd not be me if I back down in case he is. I take a few moments, too. I allow a little smirk to show on my face once I figured out what to do.

"Now we do this the old fashioned way. We use pen and paper."

He stares at me incredulously. "How would that work? We can't have a conversation that way."

A soft laugh escapes my mouth. "A, it worked with our friends in school, so why not now? And B, you don't have to write anything, anyway. I write down a few notes about it, you read it, stay silent, decide whether or not to make me a deal, burn the paper and dissolve the ashes in water whether you take it or not."

Montgomery doesn't reply with words but tosses me his notepad and a pen instead. Bet he's curious as hell. I know I would be.

'Pulgatti - Armen - Jo. Beckett - Sen. W.B.' is all I write on it.

I toss it back and keep the pen on my armrest.

Once Montgomery has looked the names over, his face drains of any color.

"Know this: The youngest of the trio that's not on that list and I have similar goals. Safekeeping." I shift my gaze towards the bullpen for a moment, hoping it doesn't go unnoticed. "I will use my network to that goal, too, if you let me."

"You'll get your deal," the man behind the desk mutters hoarsely.

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**I really wanted to upload sooner, but I had no idea how to write Montgomery. I kept rewriting their talk, and I hope my portrayal of him did him justice. The rest was done on Monday morning already, so I'm on a good way to go back to updating on "Castle Monday". Yay! :)**

**Please let me know what you thought of this chapter. :)  
**


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